


feel without defense

by anarchetypal



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Church Boy Ryan, Church Sex, Drifter Geoff, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, inspired by preacher's son au, oh god i can't believe i wrote something that requires a "church sex" tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4596495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchetypal/pseuds/anarchetypal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geoff is beautiful like a punch to the gut. </p>
<p>Geoff leaves Ryan winded, breathless, powerless to do anything but be pulled inexorably into his orbit. Geoff is Bad News, capital letters, for a variety of reasons, but Ryan wants to be kissing him all the time, wants to touch Geoff where and when he wants, leave white-hot wakes on Geoff’s skin with his fingers like Geoff does to Ryan’s thoughts with his eyes and smiles, prays to God despite the sick feeling in his stomach that one day he’ll get the chance to without feeling guilty, please, he’s begging, he’s sorry, amen. </p>
<p>(AKA: drifter/quintessential bad boy Geoff blows into town and then blows Catholic boy Ryan in the back of the church after getting tipsy on communion wine.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	feel without defense

**Author's Note:**

> hey, this is inspired by ryanthepowerbottomguy's preacher's son au! 
> 
> context for this story can be found on my writing/inspiration tumblr here (but is not required reading for enjoying this PWP): anarchetypal.tumblr.com/post/108771186683/shoutout-to-ryanthepowerbottomguy-and-vavxray-for

The air is thick and humid, heady in a way that portends the sky opening up and unleashing a hot, wet summer storm. Ryan breathes it in deep through the open window of his truck and wonders, not for the first time, when Geoff Ramsey managed to worm his way into Ryan’s head. Sink his fingers deep into Ryan’s brain.

That’s the only reason, he reckons, why they’re here in the first place.

Because, “Where the hell can I get something to drink at this hour?” Geoff had asked around eleven that night, to which the response had been, “Nowhere,” because the one place in town that sells booze is only open during normal business hours.

And Geoff had groaned and put his feet up on the dash of Ryan’s truck, and Ryan had looked at him for a long, long moment, and—

And then Geoff sank his fingers deep into Ryan’s brain, that’s the only reason, he swears, why he even said it in the first place: “Actually. I know a place.”

And so where they end up is the church parking lot, where Ryan feels his hands shake, like the church is a beacon of unease that radiates through the whole town and concentrates the strongest here.

And so Ryan is terrified, and Geoff is delighted, and Ryan takes in a slow, deep breath before he pushes open the door of his truck. It seems to slam loud even though he closes it gently, breaks harshly through the dark quiet of the parking lot and serves as just another visceral reminder of what they’re about to do.

Geoff whistles as they walk to the back door of the church, hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, smiling at Ryan beatifically despite the looming threat of a storm.

Geoff is beautiful like a punch to the gut. Geoff leaves Ryan winded, breathless, powerless to do anything but be pulled inexorably into his orbit. Geoff is Bad News, capital letters, for a variety of reasons, but Ryan wants to be kissing him all the time, wants to touch Geoff where and when he wants, leave white-hot wakes on Geoff’s skin with his fingers like Geoff does to Ryan’s thoughts with his eyes and smiles, prays to God despite the sick feeling in his stomach that one day he’ll get the chance to without feeling guilty, please, he’s begging, he’s sorry, amen.

It’s times like this where Ryan wishes desperately that things were different. That circumstances were different. That he were different.

He thinks maybe if everything were different, he’d love Geoff.

Ryan fumbles for the key and wonders when, exactly, he fell so completely off the edge of the life he’d been living until Geoff drove into town. “I’m breaking into the church,” he says, half wonderingly and half bemoaning it. “I’m breaking and entering. I’m committing a felony.”

“Nah, Geoff says casually. “Probably just a misdemeanor. And, I mean, you have a key, dude. So we’re not really breaking and entering. Just entering. Which is totally legal.”

Ryan snorts. Tries not to think about Geoff’s use of _we_ , how he always automatically pairs himself with Ryan, makes himself just as responsible for everything they do. “Obeying the letter of the law if not the spirit?”

“Dude, you just described my life motto. As long as I’m _technically_ not breaking any laws, you know, the show will go on.”

“Have I mentioned what a bad influence you are?”

“On a nearly hourly basis,” Geoff says cheerfully. “Now commit this felony, church boy. I’m ready to get fucked up on communion wine. Cross that shit off my bucket list.”

“Getting drunk on communion wine is on your bucket list?” Ryan asks, surprised, working the key through the rusty lock and finally pushing the door open. Hot, stagnant air drifts out in a slow, meandering, invisible tumble.

“I put it on my bucket list when you suggested it.” Geoff pushes past him into the church.

Ryan rarely comes in this way, into the back room instead of through the big double doors at the front, but he thinks that if he opened the doors and looked down the rows of pews towards the altar it’d be looking into the barrel of a gun, and he’d turn tail and get right back in his truck. Here, he can almost convince himself he isn’t about to steal communion wine from a house of God with the man he’s been fooling around with.

“Fuck, it’s dark,” he hears Geoff mutter, and there’s the sound of something clattering loudly before Ryan rolls his eyes and fumbles for the light switch.

Geoff grins sheepishly at him in the tepid light of the bulbs hanging in the ceiling (Ryan’s pretty sure they’re the exact same lightbulbs that were hanging there when he was a kid, their light slowly going yellowed and flickery with time) and picks up a stack of the acrylic number tiles they put up on the signs on the walls near the altar to tell people which pages to turn to in their hymnals.

“Remind me never to put you on my crack team of criminals when I decide to rob three casinos at the same time,” Ryan says, taking the tiles from Geoff and setting them back on the counter.

Geoff gives him a blank look.

“Ocean’s Eleven,” Ryan says. “It’s— Never mind, forget it, let’s just. Do this.”

“Have I mentioned how proud I am that you came up with this idea completely on your own?” Geoff asks. “I didn’t even _think_ about breaking into the church.”

“I have a key,” Ryan feels the need to remind him.

“The student has truly surpassed the teacher tonight, and I’m just—” Geoff breaks off, pretending to choke up. “I’m so _proud_.”

“Of course you’re proud of being the single force of corruption in somebody’s life,” Ryan mutters, unearthing the wine and setting it down heavily onto the counter.

“I feel like _corruption_ is a strong word,” Geoff says, walking over to peer at the label curiously, then admits, “but probably not an inaccurate one.”

“Yeah. Let me know when you decide to start feeling bad about that.”

“Let me know when you decide to start complaining about it,” Geoff shoots back, starting to rifle through the cabinets above the counter.

Ryan watches him. “What’re you doing?”

“What, you expect me to drink that shit out of the bottle like a heathen? I’m looking for those fancy cup things.”

“The chalices?” Ryan asks with a growing sense of dread.

“Yeah, the fancy cup things,” Geoff reiterates, pulling two of them from one of the cabinets with a triumphant sound and setting them on the counter to fill them from the big bottle. “If we’re gonna drink communion wine, we’re gonna do it in the official cups. I take this corrupting shit seriously, Haywood.”

The sight of the ornate wine goblets he’s so accustomed to seeing and handling every Sunday being filled by _Geoff_ with the communion wine that they’re _stealing_ makes the whole situation hit Ryan at once. He stares at the chalice Geoff holds out to him, watches how Geoff’s smile fades, how concern makes his eyebrows knit.

“Hey, it’s just a joke,” he says carefully, and something in Ryan breaks.

He wants to say that it’s _not_ a joke, that _none_ of this is a joke, that this is his _life_ , this is everything he’s ever known and Geoff is _changing_ it and he’s not sure how he feels or how he’s supposed to feel and he just wishes things could be easier, wishes every brush of their fingertips didn’t feel like ten thousand volts of _bad_ and _wrong_ , wishes this could be normal, that the way he feels about Geoff could be okay, and wishes Geoff had never come to town in the first place, and wishes—wishes—

Ryan shuts his eyes against the thoughts before they burst out of him, before he ends up shouting them, screaming himself hoarse and letting Geoff find out exactly how messed up he is. Instead, he takes the chalice, lets the weight of it ground him, and smiles when Geoff toasts him sarcastically.

It’s cheap wine, bitter on his tongue and heating him all the way down. Geoff laughs when he can’t help but pull a face; he’s not used to more than a sip or so at a time.

They drink until Ryan feels warm down to his toes, until everything’s just a little softer around the edges, until Geoff cuts him off and takes the chalice from him because “we’re not fooling around if you’re completely trashed, Haywood, don’t look at me like that, you’re not even enjoying it.”

Geoff tastes like communion wine and cigarettes, which should be horrible, but the hot slide of his mouth and tongue more than make up for it. Ryan wonders if kissing him will ever not feel like the first time, like a thousand electric butterflies.

Eventually, Geoff’s gaze and hands drift down to Ryan’s belt. “Can I?” he asks, and Ryan nods without even really knowing what Geoff’s asking, eager and so hard his hair flops into his face.

Geoff does that fond smile of his, and kisses Ryan one more time before he moves, and Ryan figures out pretty quickly what it is he’s planning to do.

And Geoff has said he’s not a religious man, but when he sinks to his knees Ryan can’t help but wonder if religion has to coexist with divinity.

And, oh, Geoff drives fast and kisses slow and moves mountains inside of Ryan when he works his belt off, the leather sliding from the buckle with a soft, smooth sound that makes Ryan’s hips jerk a little preemptively.

Chuckling, Geoff rucks up Ryan’s shirt a little and thumbs the skin just above the waistband of his jeans, and doesn’t make a move to touch his zipper. “Slow,” he murmurs, smiling up at him. “We’ll take it slow.”

“Right,” Ryan manages, and he’s already reaching back to grip the lip of the counter with both hands so he doesn’t do what he wants to do, which is sink his fingers into Geoff’s hair, or touch Geoff’s face, or just stuff his own fist into his mouth to muffle a scream about how he’s about to get blown in the back of the church. “Great. That way, when I come in the next minute and a half anyway, it’ll be even _more_ embarrassing.”

Geoff laughs, low and rough and a little messy from the alcohol, and that sound plus the way he leans in to nose at the hair below Ryan’s navel makes Ryan go from zero to half hard in a pathetic few seconds.

It should be illegal, how long it takes for Geoff to unzip his jeans and pull them down—and there’s no way Geoff doesn’t notice Ryan’s impatience, how it leaves every muscle tight like the moment before the gun goes off, how his fingers grip the counter so hard the old wood creaks a little under his touch. His heart feels like it’s going to race out of his chest in some awful combination of anticipation and nerves and arousal and guilt.

He lets out a rush of air when Geoff presses his lips to Ryan’s cock, still clothed in his boxers, in an open-mouthed kiss, and Ryan damn near bites through his lower lip to hold in possibly the most pathetic sound he’s ever almost made.

Geoff glances up at him with a wicked grin as he finally tugs Ryan’s boxers down and says, “You can pull my hair if you want, you know,” and Ryan sucks in a breath and then, nope, _that’s_ definitely the most pathetic sound he’s ever almost made.

“You’re going to kill me,” Ryan accuses shakily, and can’t quite manage a scowl when Geoff just laughs at him.

“I mean, hopefully I’ll at least get you to come first, then,” he says, and Ryan groans and gives in and pushes his fingers through Geoff’s hair. Geoff makes an appreciative sound at that, and then another when he finally gives his full attention to Ryan’s cock, flushed and hard—and Ryan feels a little self-conscious despite himself for a moment, but that mostly goes away when Geoff leans down and takes Ryan’s cock into his mouth completely, root to tip, in a single, easy motion.

Ryan thinks, if he could get enough air, he’d be crying out. As it is, he just tightens his fingers in Geoff’s hair and chokes out a barely audible, helpless noise as his knees buckle and his hips jerk forward.

He manages to still himself, but none of it seems to bother Geoff—if anything, he just seems to throw himself into his efforts harder, and Ryan wonders, just for a moment, how many times Geoff has done this, with how many people, in how many different places.

(He hangs on to the half-comforting fact that, at the very least, this is probably the first time Geoff has given a blowjob in a church.)

Geoff works up a relentless rhythm, the wet heat of his mouth making Ryan’s lips part and eyes screw shut, and he thinks that this is how he’s going to come, having barely taken a full breath yet and spilling into Geoff’s mouth in less than a minute, Christ _alive_ —but then Geoff slows, releases Ryan’s cock as he brings his head up again.

Ryan’s whole body thrums. He realizes he’s sent Geoff’s hair into a hopeless state of disarray with his fingers and realizes, now that the room isn’t filled with the wet, bordering-on-obscene noises of Geoff’s mouth on his cock, that he’s gasping, aborted little half-breaths that make him dizzy.

Geoff has the fucking gall to grin at him.

“Doing okay?” he asks, lips red and swollen and, oh, fuck, Ryan wants to kiss him more than anything, fuck where his mouth has been.

“I hate you,” Ryan says—or means to say. In reality it comes out sounding something like _ughhhAhaytchu_ , but he figures he should get points for being able to vocalize anything at all.

Predictably, Geoff just grins wider. “Fuck, you’re doing so fucking good,” he says, voice gentle despite the cocky look still tinging his expression, and all Ryan can think through the haze of _please, please keep doing_ _that_ is that Geoff’s got it backwards.

When Geoff doesn’t seem to be too eager to do anything more than trace teasing fingertips along his inner thighs (which makes him squirm probably just as much as sucking him had, to be fair, but _honestly_ ), Ryan groans and lets his head fall back against the cabinet doors with a hollow thud.

“So,” Geoff murmurs, the pads of his thumbs dragging rough over Ryan’s hipbones, and there’s a gentle amusement in his voice that makes Ryan think _oh, no_. “I’m guessing this is your first—”

“Nope,” Ryan says loudly, and he’s proud of how coherently that single word comes out, despite the mortification in his tone. “I can’t think of anything I’d like less than talking about my lack of blowjob experiences, _especially with your mouth inches from my dick_ , which is incidentally a talking point I _am_ actually in support of, specifically you going back to what you were doing before? Instead of finishing that thought? Please?”

Geoff’s outright laughing now. “Oh, c’mon, there’s no shame—”

“Geoff,” Ryan says. He does his best to make his voice drop a little lower, twist it a little more desperately—because he’s inexperienced, sure, but he’s not _blind_ , notices what gets Geoff worked up and isn’t afraid to exploit it in times of need. “Please. _Please_ , Geoff, I need it, I need you, please touch me.” He breathes in shakily, not entirely acting anymore. “Oh, God. Please.”

He’s a little proud of the sudden flush on Geoff’s cheeks, of the way Geoff’s throat clicks as he swallows thickly. Mostly he’s just helplessly, hopelessly relieved, because then Geoff finally brings his mouth back down to the head of his cock. Ryan shudders with it, babbles out a repeating, stuttering _thank you_ as he cards his fingers through Geoff’s hair again, more carefully this time.

And now Geoff takes it slow, brings out a dozen little tricks with his tongue that make Ryan’s head spin. He has enough breath to make noise now, and fuck if he doesn’t take advantage of it whether he means to or not. His breath leaves him in helpless moans and whines and choked sounds, and every time Geoff drags the flat of his tongue slowly, heavily, deliberately up the whole length of his shaft, he shivers, just like he tightens his hands in Geoff’s hair whenever Geoff sucks at the head of his cock (which he does frankly _way_ too often for Ryan to pass off as innocent, especially not with the way his eyelashes flutter when Ryan pulls at his hair a little).

There’s a few moments where he feels selfish, just taking what Geoff gives him, but he figures out pretty quickly after that that his reactions are doing something for Geoff just as surely as Geoff’s mouth is doing something for him.

He’s looking down at Geoff—as if he could look away from this—and so he sees how hard Geoff is through his jeans, sees it when he brings a hand down between his legs, sees him rock against the heel of his hand without breaking rhythm.

“ _Oh_ ,” Ryan breathes out, because he can’t not, because that’s easily the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Geoff’s gaze flicks up, and he _winks_ , the fucker, and hums in satisfaction, muffled, around Ryan’s cock.

Ryan’s not entirely convinced he doesn’t feel the resulting vibrations in his _chest_. He gasps something out, knees buckling, and it’s only half coherent to his _own_ ears, so he tries again for Geoff’s sake. “ _Please_ — I’m gonna— Geoff, you gotta—”

But Geoff doesn’t back off—if anything, he speeds up, sucks him down completely again, twice, a third time, and then Ryan’s crying out, hips jerking forward helplessly as he comes down Geoff’s throat, body shaking with it. He can barely stay on his feet through it, especially when Geoff licks his cock clean, makes him shudder and whine with oversensitivity.

Finally, Geoff backs off, sits back on his heels as they both work to catch their breath. His legs are spread, knees much farther apart than when he’d started.

Gradually, Ryan’s ears stop ringing. He feels weak, but more satisfied than he’s felt in—maybe ever, honestly, even if Geoff’s grinning at him again like the cocky son of a bitch he is. Ryan wants to haul him up by the front of his shirt, but is barely managing to hold _himself_ up without crumpling like a paper doll.

“You good?” Geoff asks, getting to his feet and pulling Ryan’s boxers and jeans up in a way that’s more caring and considerate than it should be, really, considering what they’ve been doing. His voice is really, really appealingly rough. “Did I kill you?”

“Yes,” Ryan says, dazed, and Geoff laughs, leans in to kiss him.

Ryan tastes himself on Geoff’s tongue, which should be awful, realistically, but somehow just makes him groan and press against Geoff further, hands wandering freely. The inhibitions that couldn’t be washed away with wine have disappeared in the wake of orgasm, somehow, and Ryan’s not complaining.

“I want,” Ryan says, not completely sure how to get the words from his brain to his mouth. His hand lands on Geoff’s belt buckle. “I want— Will you let me, uh. Return the favor?” he manages, lamely.

Geoff blinks, surprised, and then takes a moment to look him over. His smile goes soft, fond. “Next time,” he says. Teases, “When you have enough brain cells to rub together to let me teach you how to do it well.”

“Excuse you,” Ryan says, more on principle than anything else, and tries to ignore the way his cock throbs a little at the idea of Geoff gently coaching him through his first blowjob.

Geoff kisses him again, breathing a low, vibrating chuckle into his mouth, and then finally fumbles with the fly of his own jeans. Not breaking the kiss, he takes one of Ryan’s hands in his own and guides it to his cock, and together they stroke Geoff off, bodies pressed together. Ryan feels every hitch of Geoff’s breath and feels his cock pulse when he comes, and it’s a miracle Ryan only gets a little worked up through it all—God knows what cocky attitude Geoff would turn on him if Ryan got hard again just from jerking him off.

And so Geoff buries his face in the crook of Ryan’s neck when he spills over their hands, and Ryan leans against the counter as Geoff leans against him, breathing hard.

“Fuck,” Geoff murmurs. He doesn’t quite nuzzle against the underside of Ryan’s jaw, and Ryan’s stomach doesn’t quite do high-school-crush flips in response. They stay like that for a minute, the room so quiet in the aftermath that it’s half deafening.

“So,” Ryan says, pushing down all the dark, coiling thoughts rising in him in favor of gently elbowing Geoff in the side and smiling, maybe a little shyly. “Next time?”

Geoff grins at him, a thousand watts that immediately banish every thought that threatens to ruin what’s become a pretty nice afterglow, and drags him down to kiss him again. “Next time.”

The moment doesn’t break when they separate, not really. Geoff tucks himself back into his boxers and zips his jeans and they clean up—the wine and the chalices and their hands—and Geoff flashes him a fond, easy smile, and Ryan tries not to fall in love.

It’s storming, at last, when they leave. There’s a chill to the rain that signals the coming end of summer, inevitable and so close that it’s in the air. The threat of change and the storm should make Ryan hunch his shoulders, duck his head.

Instead, he lets Geoff curl an arm around his waist as they walk back to his truck, the press of Geoff’s body against his side a warm, comfortable presence he’s a little afraid he’s getting used to.

Instead, he turns his face up to the sky and lets the cold rain hit his cheeks.

Instead, he shouts, exhilarated, in tandem with Geoff against the next roll of thunder when it comes, letting the cacophony of sound shake him to his core.

He keeps the church at his back and throws an arm around Geoff and doesn’t look over his shoulder once.


End file.
